The Most Wicked Of Sins (7 page)

“Everything smells delicious,” Lady Ivy announced, as the footmen began to serve her soup. “Do you not agree, Lord Counterton?”

He lowered his hand and replaced it upon his knee. “I do.”

“Please leave everything else,” she told one of the footmen. “We will serve ourselves.”

“But my lady—” He looked genuinely offended, but Lady Ivy was determined to have her request met.

The ruddy slash of her left eyebrow snapped upward, and her lips pinched, ending all discussion. The footman signaled for the other servers, who settled their dishes on the table between Lady Ivy and Nick and hurriedly quit the room.

She tilted her head slightly to the side and raised the edges of her lips. “I believe a bit of privacy is required for our discussion. I am certain you agree.”

“Yours must be quite a plan.”

“Brilliant, actually.” Lady Ivy sipped some consommé from her spoon and gestured for Nick to do the same. She seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to swallow and lower her spoon before speaking, but then, it might just have been that the pause was intended to increase his interest in her ruse.

“Do share.” He lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth, since drinking…or eating seemed to put her more fully at ease—and more forthcoming.

“The plan is simple,” she explained between mouthfuls. “I am sure Viscount Tinsdale was on the verge of asking me to marry him—a union my father has indicated he would agree to—when Miss Fiona Feeney, who is new to Society, set her cap at him and promptly stole his affections from me.”

“No one can steal affections, Lady Ivy,” he told her gravely. “Affections can only be given away.”

Ivy’s grip tightened on the silver handle of her spoon, but her face betrayed no hint of agitation. “Be that as it may, my goal is to steal…
win
back his attentions. My dilemma is that I cannot compete on any level with Miss Feeney. She is startlingly beautiful, charming, and witty.”

“But
Ivy,
you hold all of those qualities in abundance.” Nick leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. He was being completely honest, and he hoped she would believe him and call off her nefarious machinations.

Ivy’s eyes suddenly grew bright, and her earlier smile flattened. “Obviously, I do not. I cannot compete with her, else I would not have needed your assistance.”

His urge was to argue the point, but her emotion was growing steadily. She was becoming upset, and he knew it was better not to say anything more about it. And in this moment of weakness, the words he did not wish to say fell from his lips. “How can I assist?”

Excitedly, Ivy pushed her bowl aside and leaned toward him. “I cannot compete with Miss Feeney for Tinsdale’s affections—so you will compete with Tinsdale for hers!” Her eyes were bright and wide. “You will steal Miss Feeney’s affections from Lord Tinsdale. Woo her, charm her, do whatever must be done to make her fall in love with you and set Tinsdale aside.”

An uneasy chuckle fell from Nick’s mouth. “Your belief in my abilities is unfounded, Ivy.”

“Do you not recall our kiss?”

Nick smiled. “Oh, indeed I do.”

“Then you should also know it was a test—a test that proved to me that I am not overestimating you or your abilities at all. One kiss from you, and had I not been sitting on the carriage bench, my knees would have given out from beneath me.” She drew a fortifying breath. “You are everything Lord Tinsdale is not. You lack nothing, except a title, smart address, and a few accoutrements. I have provided these things.”

Steam curled up from the bowl before him, prompting Nick, while he considered his next words, to dip his spoon into the consommé and swallow the broth. “Even if I do what you ask, there is no guarantee that Lord Tinsdale will return his affections to you.”

“Well, you will assist me with that as well.”

Nick looked up from his bowl, balancing his next spoonful of broth in the air. “Pray, do tell me how.” He put the spoon into his mouth, then removed it, leaving a smile on his lips.

“By pretending to fall in love with me.”

Nick choked on the hot soup still inside his mouth. He dragged a linen napkin to his lips. “So, your plan is that I woo Miss Feeney, make her fall in love with me—but at the same time, I pretend that I am in love with you, in order to make Tinsdale resume his courtship of you?”

“Exactly.” Ivy laughed. “Though the key piece you are missing in your understanding…is
envy.
”

“Envy.” Nick shook his head. She was right; he didn’t understand this at all.

“Miss Feeney, my rival in London Society, set her cap for Lord Tinsdale because I possessed his heart. If I thought him worthy, then clearly he must be the most desirable and eligible unmarried gentleman in London.”

“And is he?”

“Aye. He is wealthy, titled, from a good family, and very, very steadfast.” She folded her arms at her chest and leaned back in her chair, looking somewhat frustrated with him. “In short, he is everything my father wishes for me in a husband.”

“Everything
your father
wishes.”

“Did you not hear me?” She was growing more agitated by the moment. “Aye.”

Nick still was not satisfied with her explanation. “Allow me to see if I am following your logic correctly. So when Miss Feeney sees us together at Society events—”

“And learns that the incredibly handsome, charming gentleman courting me is none other than the new Marquess of Counterton, she will be dreadfully envious of me. Within no time at all, she will shift her attentions and affections from Tinsdale, a mere viscount, to you.”

Nick chuckled softly at her convoluted reasoning. Not that he thought her wrong. He had no idea how the female mind worked—and a Sinclair female…well, he daren’t even attempt to begin to figure her out. “And Lord Tinsdale, seeing your radiance in the reflected glow of another gentleman’s love, will understand how wrong he was to leave you in favor of another.”

“My, you don’t have a solid comprehension of human nature, and yet you must understand this. Lord Tinsdale must
feel
Miss Feeney’s affections slipping away. This makes him vulnerable. It is at that time that I show him the smallest amount of favor while you make love to me.”

Nick’s eyebrows inched toward his hairline. “Make love to you? Lady Ivy, that is something we have not discussed.” A grin tugged at his lips. “There would be an additional guinea for that, of course.”

“What?” Ivy’s eyes rounded. “Oh, good Lord! You know I was not speaking of
that.
I only meant that you make it appear that you are madly in love with me…in public.”

“To make him jealous. To make him feel that he must have you back with him again. To make him envious of what I have.”

“Aye. Oh, you do understand.” Ivy laughed aloud but then embarrassedly clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound. “As I said, the plan is brilliant. Is it not?”

“Absolutely brilliant.” Nick appeased her with a smile. Her thinking possessed great originality, he’d give her that—but it was ripe with peril for all involved. “When do we begin?”

“Why, tonight, of course.” Ivy slowly dragged her soup before her once again and started to consume what was left. “After our meal, I will take you to your new home on Berkeley Square.”

“Berkeley Square. Tonight?”

“Och, aye. Tonight. So hurry yourself with your soup. We have several other dishes before us still—including the beef course.”

Dear God. Just what the hell have I agreed to?

Nothing sharpens the sight like envy.

Thomas Fuller

Nick exhaled a sigh of relief when the Sinclair town carriage drew up before Felix’s narrow house on Davies Street. She had taken him home—not to Berkeley Square.
p. He felt the bounce of the vehicle on its springs as the driver leaped down from his perch and heard the ring click on the hitching post. Sliding to the edge of the bench, Nick waited for the door to be opened. “It has been an…enlightening evening, Lady Ivy.”

In the flickering light of the small brass carriage lamp, he saw a veil of confusion whisk over her face. “Aye, but I daresay, it is about to grow more interesting.” She scooted to the edge of her seat as well and leaned forward.

A kiss?
Blood charged into Nick’s heart and pumped through him in anticipation of a reenactment of the night he first met her in the carriage. When she pulled him down to her and passionately kissed him as he’d never been kissed before.

But then the carriage door opened.

Damn it all.
The driver had opened the door before she could lean just a little closer and—

“My lady,” the driver interrupted. His eyes were cast downward, as if not to breach his lady’s privacy inside the cab. “His…err…
man
will deliver everything on the morrow.”

“His
man?
” Ivy scrunched her nose. “Oh! I see. Can he not accommodate us by doing it now?”

My man?
Just who was he speaking of—Felix? Then it dawned on him. Of course, Felix. Good God, ever the actor, he must be playing the footman again for the sake of Lady Ivy. Or maybe a valet.

“I…err…no, my lady. He claims he cannot collect everything with so little notice.” The driver brought his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Shall I drive on?”

“Please do.” As the driver pressed the door shut, Nick shot his hand out and caught it before it could be closed. “Shouldn’t I be getting out?”

Ivy paid his question no mind but slid back against the seat rest and exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I hope you do not mind sleeping without a nightshirt.”

Nick’s eyes widened and his hand fell to his side. The driver took his perch. “The night is mild.” He tapped his finger agitatedly atop his knee. “Besides which, I never wear nightshirts anyway.” The carriage lurched forward.

“Oh.” Ivy’s expression looked a bit startled though Nick doubted it was the sudden movement of the carriage as it started down Davies Street but rather his confession. “Well then,
I-I
suppose tomorrow will do.” She peeled off her gloves and, without seeming to think about it, fanned herself with them.

“Berkeley Square?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Aye,” she replied. “Was I not clear about our plan at supper?”

“Your plan…oh yes.” Nick leaned back, having given up on that kiss he had expected. “Quite.”

Only he hadn’t expected he would begin impersonating himself, the new Marquess of Counterton, that night.

Berkeley Square

Nick stood beside Lady Ivy, staring up at the towering house before him. It was much larger than he had imagined. The white house sat at the corner and was at least twice as wide as the other elegant town houses on the west side of the square. He peered up and counted four levels above ground, and then down past the black wrought-iron fence to a set of stairs leading from street level to what he guessed would be an entrance to a kitchen.

“Grand, isn’t it?” Ivy said. She was beaming proudly as she gazed upon it, almost as if the house were her own.

But it wasn’t. From what he’d learned, she’d rented the house illegally from some sly-booted fellow who had about as much right to the house as she—none.

Before he responded, the front door opened. A tall, burly man stood in the doorway, beckoning to them.

Ivy grasped Nick’s arm. “Please hurry. It is late, but the moon is bright. Let’s go inside before one of your neighbors sees the new Lord Counterton and Lady Ivy coming up the steps and alerts everyone so that they might come and greet you—and seek to ruin me. I cannot be seen alone here with you.”

Nick allowed himself to be pulled up the steps but only because he was curious about what he might find inside—and more interestingly, whom.

The man at the door, dressed in an ill-fitting dark butler’s coat and smudged breeches, stepped aside and let them pass into the house. The light of a four-armed candelabra cast a golden glow over the entryway.

Nick started forward to peer through the doorway of the room to his right when Ivy pulled his arm and spun him around.

“Lord Counterton,” she said quite formally, “your butler.”

“Cheatlin, my lord,” the butler snickered.

Cheatlin? Bloody hell.

Nick studied the butler. The man’s coat was too snug for his enormous biceps. His hands were rough, scabbed on the knuckles and chafed. “You’re a carpenter by trade.” Nick extended his hand, but Cheatlin did not take it.

“She weren’t supposed to mention that to the likes of you.” Mr. Cheatlin glared at Lady Ivy. “I was supposed to decide when and
if
I told the chap.”

“She didn’t tell me anything.” Nick protectively angled his shoulder between Cheatlin and Ivy. “I noticed your hands. My good man, I am no stranger to physical labor.”

“I know you ain’t really Lord Counterton, just like I ain’t really a butler.” Cheatlin’s voice was low and gruff. “But we might as well start acting our parts now so we get into the habit.” He took an awkward heavy step backward, then bent at the waist, and bowed at Nick.

“Oh, of course, you are right.” Nick turned a bit and glanced at Ivy, who gave him a little prod, before facing Cheatlin and tipping his head in acknowledgment, as a marquess would do. “Cheatlin.”

“Well, that’s better.” Cheatlin clapped his hands tightly and rubbed his palms together. “In truth, you are correct. I am Counterton’s master carpenter. I’ll be tellin’ you this only because when you ain’t got visitors, I will be working on some needed repairs on the upper levels.”

Ivy nodded, agreeing with the carpenter’s message. “Before you leave the house, always inform Cheatlin when you are to return or send a message to him if you are to return unexpectedly with…a guest.”

“You won’t want me hammerin’ or hollerin’ at my men, not when I should be in my blacks answerin’ the door or serving you tea and little cakes,” Cheatlin added. “You’ll have a cook, a sixpounder…um…a maid, and a footman. They’ll get their domestic duties done, but I will tell you now, like me own, their skills lie elsewhere. Get my meaning?”